


A Pessimist's Romance

by LazyBaker



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: M/M, Season 2, Virginity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-19
Updated: 2015-04-19
Packaged: 2018-03-24 19:49:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3782221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LazyBaker/pseuds/LazyBaker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I'm sorry." Bellamy says. The apology sounds like it hurt to say and that it may have damaged his vocal chords on the way up. John tries not to stare and fails spectacularly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Pessimist's Romance

There aren't a lot of things John misses.

 

His mom is dead. His dad has been dead for even longer. Friends were never his thing even before the whole death-by-Earth fiasco. There’s never been that ‘click’ with another person everyone else seems to have so easily.

 

Mbege had been the exception though. Always the exception. But he’s dead too and John tries not to dwell.

 

Save up all that angst and mourning and general self-hate for another day.

 

Bathing in a creek--the water clean but cold enough to make him actually want to wear his clothes that stink because washing is still _one of those things_ they’re figuring out--he misses showers with the entirety of his heart.

 

Hot, running water with soap that actually cleaned him. The thought of it makes his heart ache and he thinks for a minute he should really be feeling more emotional about pretty much anything else. Like the few people who actually treated him with kindness who are probably ash now, the memories of showers are making him particularity nostalgic.

 

If he saw a loofa right now he might actually cry. Picturing a shower drain makes him a little teary eyed.

 

He's sitting in the water, cross legged and his bare ass being poked by a large variety of rocks. By far not the worst feeling he's had recently. John snorts. He traces one scar along his stomach, it's big--jagged--and it had hurt. He always thought scars were cool and now that he has what feels like a million all over him, he thinks he'd prefer to be as smooth as a baby.

 

His mother always told him he’d forget the pain. That the sting isn’t something that could be remembered, it’ll be something that lived in the past and all he’d know is it had hurt but not _how_ it had hurt. 

 

What she hadn’t said was how the anger would linger and how the pain may be some far away concept, but it’s still there hovering over his head. Twisting into something that isn’t just one of his newly found scars.

 

It’s an ugly thing.

 

Pooling some water in his hands, he tries to work out some of the tangles in his hair. Blood matting the strands together. His fingers are shaking as he tries to get it all out, his hair pulling uncomfortably. He might need to cut it. Or steal a brush from one of the girls.

 

Finn, maybe. He has nice hair that always seems to be neat. Probably has a comb somewhere in his bag. But John rejects the idea as soon as he thinks it. 

 

He'd rather avoid Finn for awhile.

 

The bushes rustle and John sighs as loud as he possibly can. The back of Bellamy's head comes into view.

 

"You done yet?" Bellamy says. Gun at the ready and John should probably feel more nervous Bellamy is armed and John is naked and dangling in the wind and it wouldn't be a fair fight at all.

 

Except he doesn’t and maybe he has given up after all. 

 

The question of the day is _why the hell_ they even got paired up to bathe. Whoever thought this had been a good idea clearly wasn’t paying attention or just wanted them both dead.

 

Seeing his dark curls and how Bellamy is absolutely refusing to look John's way either from attempting to give him some privacy or that Bellamy genuinely doesn't want to even look in John's direction, but for whatever reason why, it annoys him.

 

Picking up a small pebble--not too small, he wants it to sting a little--John chucks the rock at Bellamy's back, hitting him right between the shoulders. John's never had very good aim and he’s pretty happy he even managed to make his throw count.

 

Bellamy jumps, turning around. His gun is raised, mouth open and ready to put down anyone--Grounder or one bare-ass John.

 

"The fuck, Murphy?"

 

John just grins, laughing and soaping up his arm. Makes a show of it. It's too easy to rile Bellamy up. Fun, too. Really, it’s the only bit of enjoyment John has had since they got here.

 

Bellamy is still staring at him--his look having moved on from glaring to something weird John has never been on the receiving end of--and it's not like John is shy but he's never really liked being stared at while he's naked.

 

He almost wants to cover himself, the creek water leaving nothing to the imagination, but that would mean admitting something and he's not going to give Bellamy the satisfaction.

 

"I know I'm pretty,” John drawls, a sleazy smirk coming easily, “but this isn't a private show."

 

Bellamy bristled at that, his hair somehow reflecting how insulted he is.

 

"Just hurry up." Bellamy grunts and turns around, shoulders up to his ears.

 

His face is red and John marks it as a victory.

 

- 

 

There's a time for apologies and there's a time to just ignore and repress and avoid Bellamy like he's the one with the biological weapon smeared all over his body.

 

It's one of those nights where John would rather hide out in a corner, revel in the privacy he never had on the ark or the dropship, and just be left alone rather than picking fights. Even when they are fun and revolve around making Clarke uncomfortable or Bellamy so frustrated he's spitting when he talks.

 

He finds a spot, far enough away from the electric fence so he can stretch his legs and not be electrocuted. He's alone. He has a cup filled with Jasper's moonshine that burns his throat. No one is glaring at him. 

 

It’s fantastic.

 

Camp Jaha is relatively quiet and it looks like his night has the prospect of being a good one when Bellamy shuffles up to him from seemingly nowhere. John barely manages to not throw his drink in Bellamy's face and make a run for it. He glares instead and sips at his moonshine like he has any dignity left in his body.

 

Bellamy sits down next to him. Their knees don't touch.

 

John doesn't say anything and hopes if he just ignores Bellamy he'll go away and leave him to his little corner of the world. The minutes tick by. Someone starts to sing and soon there's a whole choir.

 

"I'm sorry." Bellamy says. The apology sounds like it hurt to say and that it may have damaged his vocal chords on the way up. John tries not to stare and fails spectacularly.

 

"For what?"

 

Bellamy shifts and he looks at John and then back at the ground between them. "For not stopping them."

 

"Right." John isn't drunk enough for this. He downs the rest of his moonshine. Thinks of his mom and regrets it immediately. And then doesn't.

 

He supposes this is when he should apologize, this silence where Bellamy is waiting and expectant and it's _that_ that makes John's lips grow tight. He gets up, wavers slightly, blood and moonshine rushing to his head. Bellamy has his hand raised like he's about to catch him.

 

His freckles are stark in the moonlight and John sort of really hates him and hates himself and hates the world on principle.

 

-

 

It's the first conversation they have in a long time that doesn't dissolve into Bellamy threatening John or John saying something about Bellamy's sister. It's civil and surprising and John doesn't recognize himself afterwards.

 

Neither does Clarke apparently, who's looking at him like he's grown a second head.

 

"What?"

 

She shrugs. "You're being nice."

 

He glares at her and she glares back at him and he feels normal again.

 

-

 

Now that the ark has landed and the population is still slim, John finds himself with a room that has four walls and a door which all adds up to this new and exciting concept of _real privacy_. There’s even a bed with blankets and it really is a beautiful sight. Inside of him there's a well of emotion bubbling up and he kisses the metal door separating him from the outside world and doesn't feel remotely stupid for doing so.

 

He pulls out his bag. There's new clothes with the arrival of the ark. They're too big, but he doesn't think he'll be getting another growth spurt what with puberty having done its job already. They're clean and haven't been covered in blood just yet which means they're practically new.

 

He pulls off his shirt. It stinks of sweat and the air is cold making him shiver. Someone bangs on his door and it opens without him having a chance to cover himself and that brief feeling of privacy slips away and he remembers why the ark had been so irritating in the first place.

 

"Please, come in." He says, sarcasm strong and alive. Bellamy is there, staring at him again and John really wants to punch him. "You got a problem?"

 

He knows in a fight he'd lose, but he can't help it. Bellamy makes his head run hot and his fingers twitch to do something.

 

"Going on a hunt, need another man." Bellamy's says. Clipped and gruff as usual. He staring at John's chest. "Fuck, Murphy."

 

He'd been too far away at the creek to really appreciate it, apparently. John sneers, lips twisting in an ugly way.

 

"You really want to put a gun in my hand?"

 

Bellamy pauses and John doesn't know why he's pushing so hard. Why he's always been pushing to make Bellamy break. But there's pity in Bellamy's eyes and he can't think of anything he dislikes more.

 

-

 

They're in the woods and John is eye to eye to eye with a deer that has two and a half heads. It's big and thick and full of meat which will hopefully be delicious. Or simply not poisonous. He’d settle for that.

 

He makes a move for his gun. The sound of his hand clasping the metal has the deer bolting. He curses and kicks a tree. Bellamy has his hand on his shoulder. He pushes him off.

 

"For fucks sake." Bellamy says and pushes him so his back is against the tree. His eyes are big and John doesn't know what to do with this. There are signs and he can sort of read them but they're unfamiliar and he feels likes he's learning the alphabet all over again.

 

"What?" John says. Hisses it. Bellamy watches him and John doesn't know what he did to deserve all of these stares and looks and why he can't just go a day without thinking of Bellamy and his dumb face.

 

"Just--" Bellamy starts and doesn't bother finishing. He grabs John by the scruff if his neck. His lips are chapped, but so are John's. His breath stinks and he knows he must taste just as bad, but it hardly matters because Bellamy is rough and his hands are oddly gentle and John doesn't know what's going on anymore.

 

-

 

John has killed two people--four if he's feeling particularly hateful towards himself--and he can't imagine what it must be like to be Finn who mowed down a whole village. Part of him wants to ask if Finn sees the faces of the Grounders when he sleeps. When he closes his eyes, does he see those kids as he pumped bullets into their small chests. Do they look as scared as he felt?

 

If it's better to kill in the name of love than in revenge.

 

If John should have put one of his own bullets in Finn's head to stop him and if he did would there have even been a place at camp waiting for him or if there’s some sort of fucked up destiny thing happening and he’s just the side character to Finn’s protagonist?

 

He has enough sense in him to keep his mouth shut and not say any of that. Too many people with trigger happy fingers these days.

 

-

 

There's a sort of truce. John doesn't say anything and neither does Bellamy, but it develops between them without any of their help. People notice. Clarke in particular, who seems to be happy John isn't trying anymore shit and Bellamy isn't on the verge of beating him into the ground.

 

It's not friendship. John knows that and he’d gladly tell anyone Bellamy isn’t someone he'd trust to carry a gun around him--even if he is stretching the truth.

 

Or making it up completely.

 

It's a quiet transition and one John reluctantly thinks is nice.

 

-

 

There isn't much to do during the few moments of downtime everyone has, other than drinking or fucking there’s talking.

 

Between patrol and hunting and making sure the ark is secure and the Grounders aren't about to invade and kill them off in horrible ways, there are small pockets of time where John catches some of the gossip. 

 

Bellamy is a popular topic. John can’t go an hour without someone mentioning Bellamy and his hair and his heroism and his availability. Maybe John just hasn’t been paying enough attention before but now it’s all he hears and he’d very much like everyone to shut the hell up.

 

But the rumors keep flying. And they might not be rumors at all, just sordid stories being passed around camp by people who don’t have a sex life or are just as bored as John is. 

 

_ Two girls at once, back at the dropship.  _

 

_ An expert at going down. _

 

_ The stamina to guarantee satisfaction. Multiple times. _

 

John doesn't think about his own lack of experience and how Bellamy is the kind of guy to be sent to earth to die of radiation and end up having a threesome.

 

He tries not to think of it. He fails pretty hard at that too.

 

-

 

John had watched his father beg. He'd been young and swamped with sweat from his fever, hardly able to stand, and his mother had held him so tight he could hardly breath. Her arms had been so thin and yet his chest had felt like it was being crushed. 

 

His father had snot running down his chin, his eyes wild and wet. His hands grabbing at Jaha's legs with the sort of desperation you could only ever experience right before you knew you were going to die.

 

He'd never seen his father cry before. It wasn't a pretty sight. It had made him look like a stranger. Just a man who was scared.

 

His father was floated and life moved on.

 

His mother drank for years and in that time John had shifted from a happy boy with two parents to a soon-to-be orphan watching his mother gurgle and choke on her own vomit until she finally stopped seizing and went still. 

 

He hadn't cried. Didn’t move to touch her. He hadn’t loved his mother in that moment.

 

He felt her hands on him. The way she hugged him close as his father was shipped off into space. The last touch she gave him that had any sort of kindness or love behind it.

 

He listens to Raven shrieking. To the others gasping. A few people cry. Finn's dead and life moves on.

 

-

 

Bellamy has a cut on his forehead. It's bleeding and dripping down the side of his head. They're huddled behind a tree, the roots creating a little alcove for them to blend in. John thinks they might die, but that's a thought he has daily now. It's not exactly a frightening conclusion anymore.

 

Maybe he's just ready to die. Or maybe he doesn't care anymore. Surviving isn’t living and John doesn’t even know what he’d do if there was that sort of permanency anyways.

 

John snorts and Bellamy elbows him in his side hard enough to make him wince.

 

He pulls out a rag, the cleanest thing he has on him, and hands it to Bellamy with a pointed look towards the bloody mess that's happening on the side of his face and making its way towards Bellamy's eye.

 

He takes it with a nod. Wipes himself down and presses it against the cut.

 

John licks his lips and waits for the sign to run like hell.

 

-

 

"Get your pants off, Murphy." Bellamy is gruff and pushes John back into the cold dirt. It's dark and they shouldn't be doing this in the middle of the woods where people have the habit of getting an axe to the face, but here he is and here Bellamy is on top of him. Cock hard and insisting against his hip.

 

He wants to tell him to go find Clarke if he wants a quick roll around, but he's hard too and this whole sex thing seems pretty interesting right now and Bellamy has the kind of lips you don't say no to.

 

Still, he’s not about to roll over and take it.

 

“This your idea of romance?” And maybe it’s the wrong thing to say--frankly most of the shit he says is the wrong thing to say--but he’s not exactly an expert in this area. Bellamy looks at him, half a glare and half something that might be along the lines of ‘fond’.

 

Bellamy leans down, all rugged and full of the type of confidence John is lacking, and bites at his ear. “I want to suck you, how’s that for romance?”

 

John swallows hard. Blinks and takes a deep breath and hates Bellamy a little more for doing that.

 

"Yes, sir." He says, all mockery and only just a little bit of nerves. Bellamy's hand is on him and his lips are on his throat and he doesn't quite know how he's going to get as naked as he's supposed to with all of these distractions.

 

He grunts and his hips buck into the strong grip stroking him off through two layers of clothes. He shoves at Bellamy, hard, and pushes him away to get his zipper down.

 

-

 

John has his face buried in his hard mattress, his hands curling around the sheets in order to not twist around and deck Bellamy right in his smug and stupid face. It's winter and freezing outside, but his room is hot and he'd be surprised if they weren't creating enough heat to warm the entirety of the ark.

 

He untangles one hand from the bedding and reaches behind him to slap Bellamy on the ass. The hit is loud and all he gets as a reaction is Bellamy laughing, his breath hot on the base of his neck.

 

Bellamy kisses the rim of his ear, slow with a little lick that has John wishing he had a little more experience under his belt because just that small touch has him whining. He didn't even know he could make that sound.

 

Bellamy does it again and keeps doing it until John tells him to hurry it up. Because Bellamy is Bellamy which means he's a stubborn asshole and he doesn't do a damn thing.

 

"You're a virgin." Bellamy says and it's the last thing John wants to hear. He flushes, his face burning right through the fabric of the sheets.

 

"Shut up and fuck me." John bites each word with hope that Bellamy will actually do what he says. The space between them closes and Bellamy is plastered along the length of his back, hips twitching enough to rub against his prostate. He groans long into the pillow and hates Bellamy more.

 

"Murphy the virgin." Bellamy says it like its some sort of grand realization. He picks a rhythm that's slow and thorough and reaches so deep inside of John that his arms give out and his chest is pressed into the bed and the only thing keeping his ass up is Bellamy's grip on his hip. "I like it."

 

There's not much else to do but groan and try and not say anything to piss Bellamy off too much. He bucks and grinds his ass back hard. Enjoys Bellamy hissing and scrambling to hold on. 

 

"God, you suck." John laughs. 

 

-

 

He wants to tell Bellamy to fuck off. To go float himself. To go take a shower in some acid fog and disappear for good and make John's life one hundred percent less shitty.

 

Tell him he hopes the Grounders catch him and slice him up and make an example of him for the rest of the 'Sky People' to see like a visitor's sign to be only vaguely regarded and ultimately forgotten.

 

If there's one thing that'll put a kink in Bellamy's pretty little ass it'll be being ignored like the rest of them.

 

John wants to grab onto his rage and scars and punch Bellamy in his face and ask him why he thinks any of this is remotely okay.

 

In the end though, John doesn't do it. He grabs onto Bellamy's hair, greasy and tangled already and works it between his fingers. Bites at his lips because kissing is new and horrible and good and he fucking wishes Bellamy wasn't making his knees weak.

 

He wants to spit on Bellamy's face. Suck on his tongue. Make him feel what he's feeling, all of this terrifying heat that's swelling inside of him. Scorching his nerves and burning him. He wants Bellamy to cry. He's terrified of letting go. 

 

It's confusing as shit.

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> [tumblr](http://granpappy-winchester.tumblr.com/)


End file.
